Potty Emergency

On Super Bowl weekend I found myself clenching tight as I crossed the bridge next to Hoover Dam. Poor trip planning you say, should of stopped earlier you say? I say NAY! This came on all of a sudden. Not even a gurgle. Heck even Mount Saint Helen warned of the coming devastation. It must of been that fricken sausage biscuit from the FlyingJ. Sweat dripped down my face as I looked at the no stopping signs and a vivid memory of last nights news saying Las Vegas was on high alert for trucker protest blocking roads during Super Bowl weekend. In my mind I was calculating how far to Boulder and exactly how many baby wipes I had, and would they be enough. The answer was too far and no, five packs of wipes wouldn't be enough and I can't afford to replace this darn seat either. I managed to get across the bridge as tourist looked in wonder at the slow moving truck and it's driver with the twisted look of anguish on his face. Boulder was getting closer! But sadly not close enough. But wait, what's that by the exit? Just enough room over the fog line to pull over! I know I shouldn't but this is truly an emergency, a potty emergency! With sphincter clenching tight I threw the drapes closed. I wouldn't want some poor unexpecting tourist seeing what was about to happen and soiling truck drivers good name. I then grabbed the bucket, the one I had prepared but hoped never to need, but need it I did. Thankfully the truck has good shocks and absorbed most of the impact. I hadn't imagined that the sound emitted from a bucket in a small space such as a truck cab could be so deafening. I tried to think of something else to distract me from the feeling of being disemboweled. But all that would come to mind was the one responsible for my misery, that dang singer and sausage maker Jimmy Dean and that lyric.
"Then came that rumble way down in the ground
And smoke and gas belched out of that mine
Everybody knew it was the end of the line for big John"
The song seemingly mocking me.
But yes it was finally the end of the line. Sweet, sweet relief. I quickly cleaned up. Double then triple bagging the offending substance. It is disturbingly hot. Next came Febreze, luckily I just bought a two pack. I used both. I then sanitized the bucket and prepared to open the curtains. I just knew there would be flashing lights and I would have to explain to a Judge why I dropped a bomb next to the Hoover Dam in a restricted area just on the other side of the fog line. Miracle of miracles, no flashing lights. I gently lowered my aching tuchus onto the drivers seat and got gone while the getting was good. The very next stop I disposed of my unwelcome passenger and rested from my ordeal thankful I made it and that I kept my balance on that bucket.

Remember if you pass a truck parked just over the fog line with its curtains closed, move over a lane, you wouldn't want them to tip over the bucket.

 

Man I'm too tired to sleep. I was responding to a thread about why someone would park just over the fog line and thought of this. Posted it here, figured y'all could use a good laugh at my expense.
Never let a drunk or tired Irishman get going.
Good night all.